The coach drove through a thick forest, lighting the way like a torch. It dazzled the eyes of robbers, who could not let it pass unmolested.
“It is gold! it is gold!” they cried, rushing forward and seizing the horses. They struck the jockeys, coachman, and footman dead, and pulled little Gerda from the carriage.
“She is fat and pretty, fed with nut kernels,” said the old robber-woman with a long beard and overhanging eyebrows. “She is as good as a lamb; how nice she will taste!” As she said this, she drew forth a shining, horrible knife.
“Oh!” screamed the old woman; her own daughter had bitten her ear. The wild, naughty girl held her back. The mother called her an ugly thing and had no time to kill Gerda.
“She shall play with me,” said the little robber-girl. “She shall give me her muff and pretty dress, and sleep in my bed.” Then she bit her mother again, making her jump about. All the robbers laughed. “See how she dances with her young cub.”
“I will ride in the coach,” said the little robber-girl. She was self-willed and obstinate. She and Gerda seated themselves and drove away over stumps and stones into the forest depths.
The robber-girl was about Gerda's size but stronger, with broader shoulders, darker skin, and quite black eyes that held a mournful look. She clasped Gerda round the waist.
“They shall not kill you as long as you don't make us vexed. I suppose you are a princess.”
“No,” said Gerda, and told her all her history and her fondness for little Kay.
The robber-girl looked earnestly at her, nodded slightly, and said, “They sha'nt kill you, even if I get angry; for I will do it myself.” Then she wiped Gerda's eyes and stuck her hands in the soft, warm muff.
The coach stopped in a robber's castle courtyard. The walls were cracked from top to bottom. Ravens and crows flew in and out of holes and crevices. Great bulldogs jumped about but were not allowed to bark.
In the large, smoky hall, a bright fire burned on the stone floor. There was no chimney; smoke rose to the ceiling. Soup boiled in a large cauldron; hares and rabbits roasted on a spit.
“You shall sleep with me and all my little animals tonight,” said the robber-girl after they ate. She took Gerda to a corner where straw and carpets were laid. Above, on laths and perches, slept more than a hundred pigeons.
“These all belong to me,” said the robber-girl. She seized the nearest pigeon, held it by the feet, and shook it till it flapped its wings. “Kiss it,” she cried, flapping it in Gerda's face.
“There sit the wood-pigeons,” she continued, pointing to laths and a cage fixed into the wall. “Both rascals would fly away if not locked up. And here is my old sweetheart 'Ba.'” She dragged out a reindeer by the horn. It wore a bright copper ring and was tied up.
“We must hold him tight, or he would run away. I tickle his neck every evening with my sharp knife, which frightens him.” She drew a long knife from a wall chink and slid it gently over the reindeer's neck. The poor animal kicked. The little robber-girl laughed and pulled Gerda into bed.
“Will you have that knife while asleep?” asked Gerda in fright.
“I always sleep with the knife,” said the robber-girl. “No one knows what may happen. Now tell me again about little Kay and why you went into the world.”
Gerda repeated her story while the wood-pigeons cooed and the other pigeons slept. The robber-girl put one arm across Gerda's neck, held the knife in the other, and was soon fast asleep. Gerda could not close her eyes; she knew not whether she was to live or die. The robbers sat round the fire, singing and drinking. The old woman stumbled about. It was a terrible sight.
Then the wood-pigeons said, “Coo, coo; we have seen little Kay. A white fowl carried his sledge. He sat in the Snow Queen's carriage, which drove through the wood while we lay in our nest. She blew upon us, and all the young ones died except us two. Coo, coo.”
“What are you saying?” cried Gerda. “Where was the Snow Queen going?”
“She was most likely travelling to Lapland, where there is always snow and ice. Ask the reindeer fastened with a rope.”
“Yes, there is always snow and ice,” said the reindeer. “It is a glorious place; you can leap and run freely on the sparkling ice plains. The Snow Queen has her summer tent there, but her strong castle is at the North Pole, on an island called Spitzbergen.”
“Oh, Kay, little Kay!” sighed Gerda.
“Lie still,” said the robber-girl, “or I shall run my knife into your body.”
In the morning, Gerda told her what the wood-pigeons said. The little robber-girl looked serious, nodded, and said, “That is all talk. Do you know where Lapland is?” she asked the reindeer.
“Who should know better than I?” said the animal, his eyes sparkling. “I was born and brought up there, running about the snow-covered plains.”
“Now listen,” said the robber-girl. “All our men are gone—only mother is here. At noon she drinks from a great bottle and then sleeps a while. Then, I'll do something for you.” She jumped out of bed, clasped her mother's neck, pulled her beard, and cried, “My own little nanny goat, good morning.” Her mother filliped her nose till it was red, all for love.
When the mother had drunk and slept, the little robber-maiden went to the reindeer. “I should like to tickle your neck more with my knife, for it makes you look funny; but never mind—I will untie your cord and set you free to run to Lapland. But you must carry this little maiden to the Snow Queen's castle, where her play-fellow is. You heard what she told me, for she spoke loud enough.”
The reindeer jumped for joy. The little robber-girl lifted Gerda onto his back, tied her on, and gave her a cushion to sit on.
“Here are your fur boots, for it will be very cold. But I must keep the muff; it is so pretty. However, you shall not freeze; here are my mother's large warm mittens. They will reach your elbows.” She put them on. “Now your hands look just like my mother's.”
Gerda wept for joy.
“I don't like to see you fret,” said the little robber-girl. “You ought to look happy now. Here are two loaves and a ham so you need not starve.” She fastened these on the reindeer, opened the door, coaxed in the great dogs, and cut the reindeer's string with her sharp knife. “Now run, but mind you take good care of the little girl.”
Gerda stretched out her hand with the great mitten towards the little robber-girl. “Farewell.” Away flew the reindeer over stumps and stones, through the forest, over marshes and plains. Wolves howled; ravens screamed; red lights quivered in the sky like flames.
“There are my old northern lights,” said the reindeer. “See how they flash.” He ran on day and night, faster and faster. The loaves and ham were all eaten by the time they reached Lapland.